She said – First day of kindergarten

I know, I haven't been writing. Actually that's not true at all. I've been writing. Like crazy. I haven't been POSTING is more what I want to say. I miss writing my Dear Connor and Tristan, but I think I was burned out for a while. Now that Christmas is over I a little more time. I've been trying to get some things off of my plate, things that I've started but are ready to pass on, (like my SPD group), one of the newsletters that I do on a volunteer basis and anything else that I don't really NEED to do, but takes up my time anyway. I've been writing but not posting because last semester I was taking a creative writing class which is where all of my writing energy went. I have a ton of stuff from the class that I've been meaning to post so I guess I'll get to it. Prepare for an onslaught of completely random things I have written. Here's the first.

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It’s 6:45am. I am standing in a dark room, watching my five year old son sleep. He stirs slightly as if aware of my presence. I lift the camera and hope for the best. It’s not easy shooting in darkness. The red-eye reduction will be the only light I am able to focus with. I press the trigger and the flash illuminates the room like an impending storm. Connor groans and rolls over shielding his eyes from the light. I shoot again. He opens one eye says, “NO” and pulls the blankets over his face to hide himself from the Mother that’s surely come to wake him.

“Good morning, sweet baby,” I croon. “Let’s get up. It’s the first day of Kindergarten”
He says again, “No”. And tries to ignore me. I take another picture.
 I coax him out of bed with the promise of an exciting day at school. He is leery. It takes forever to brush teeth. I tame the rooster hair that curls in a salute to the sky while he is sleeping. I make more promises about how much he is going to love Kindergarten and how fun it is going to be. I try to sound light and happy but I am afraid for him. I hope he can’t see it. Please don’t let him see it.

We try on his new uniform and I try to be positive when he complains and says he doesn’t understand why he can’t wear sweatpants and a t-shirt. I explain that all of the other children will be wearing the same and that it’s the rules. He complains again. I pretend to be absorbed in the tucking in of his shirt and do not answer.

We wake up the brother. The element that adds chaos to the morning. Connor is so distracted that he doesn’t even pick a fight with him. He doesn’t argue about who goes down the stairs first. His head is so full of anxiety and expectation that he doesn’t care.

His appetite is scant. He likes the cereal that he picked out at the store yesterday; it’s his favorite, but can’t eat because his tummy is a jumble of nerves. I empathize. He tells me he feels sick and I explain to him that it’s ok to have butterflies in his tummy. He doesn’t have to eat if he doesn’t want to. It’s going to be ok. He’s going to love it. Mama will take him and pick him up. Mama loves him. Mama is proud.

He wanders around the kitchen in circles, pacing. Waiting. We drive.

I explain to him how the drop off works on the way. He will get out of his seat belt when we go to the parking lot. He will have to give me a kiss. He will get out of the car and a teacher will take him to another teacher who will take him to his class. I remind him that he has lunch. He has snack. He is amazing. Mama is proud.

We pull up to the drop point and I stop the car. I turn to look at him and he’s staring out of the van door at the person that’s coming to take him away from his family. She opens the door and Connor hops out forgetting the kiss rule, but remembering as soon as his feet touch the ground he turns to get back in the car but the teacher pulls him away. He yells, “I LOVE YOU!” and blows me about ten kisses in a row. I smile, tell him I love him too and watch as he walks away staring wide eyed at the teacher that’s gushing about how cool his Scooby Doo lunch box is. He is not fooled. He looks back at the van, leaving him alone in this strange new place.

He looks so small. His backpack is almost as big as he is. He looks our way as we slowly pull away from the drop zone. As he turns to walk into the building a tear rolls down my cheek. There will be no inconsolable sobbing from me. I’m not a mother that will sit in the parking lot and cry for an hour lamenting the loss of my child. I can feel the knot in my stomach begin to untangle and but I know I still won’t be able to relax until I pick him up at the end of the day. Mama loves him. Mama is proud.

Dear Connor - 6 Years

Dear Connor,
I'd like to tell you that I haven't written your letter because I've been that busy, but really it's because I don't know what to say. You see, you've been having a tough time starting Kindergarten. Like Parent-Teacher conference the first week of school problems. The issues have mostly been regarding your inability to keep your hands to yourself, fidgeting, talking out of turn, you know, normal stuff... for you anyway. In a last ditch effort to avoid putting you on stimulant meds, we took a few trips to the Chiropractor, the neurologist and did a sleep study. You failed the sleep study, which I'll write an entry on later and the Neuro diagnosed you with ADHD, which we knew you had walking in the door.


Before I continue I want you to know something, we fought to avoid medication for you. We've done, OT, behavioral therapy, supplement therapy, elimination diets, (including gluten free), homeopathy and herbal meds. Nothing's worked. If we had unlimited finances we would have tried neuro feedback or one of the brain balancing therapies, but the funds aren't there and the feedback from people that have tried it is limited. So, in a desperate attempt to keep you from getting suspended over and over again, we filled a prescription. And it's working.
This is what I've learned having a child on medication for ADHD - most of the people that try to make you feel bad for putting your child on meds don't have a child with ADHD. Most of the people that are really pro medication have a child with ADHD. We have a really great support system of friends that might have thought we were crazy for trying all of this, but never talked down to us about it and really tried to help when they could.


In the end all that really matters is that we give you the tools to succeed in life, even if we don't see the benefit ourselves. You see, the med that we've chosen for you is a short acting med. I didn't want you to be on a stimulant all day long, so this one wears off after 7 hours. That's just long enough for you to make it through the school day and then come home and explode when it starts to wear off. You've gotten a smiley face every day at school, which is something that hasn't happened, well, ever. It's definitely relieved my own stress of worrying whether or not the school is going to call me again and I'm going to have to find a new and exciting way to explain to the staff that you are a fantastic kid that just doesn't have impulse control.


I know this journey has been most difficult on you, but it's been really hard for me too. I had no doubt that we could fix this without medication and in a lot of ways I feel like I've failed you, which may be the real reason that I haven't written you a letter for so long.
In the end we may have actually saved you, just not in the way I thought we would. See how much you teach me?
Your humble student,
Mama

The Matador

One of my assignments from a few weeks ago. Sestina.
Wikipedia says:

A sestina (also, sextina, sestine, or sextain) is a highly structured poem consisting of six six-line stanzas followed by a tercet (called its envoy or tornada), for a total of thirty-nine lines. The same set of six words ends the lines of each of the six-line stanzas, but in a different order each time; if we number the first stanza's lines 123456, then the words ending the second stanza's lines appear in the order 615243, then 364125, then 532614, then 451362, and finally 246531.

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Dust rises high and fills the air
The sun, burns bright with hot despair
His cloak thrown loose across his back
Crimson red and velvet black
The voice of crowd begins to sound
Matador, stands on the ground

A beast of Earth, does not despair
El Toro, paws in angry air
Bull stomps outraged on the ground
His snort portent, a subtle sound
The scars of battle on his back
Crimson red and velvet black

Man breathes deep of dusty air
Arrogance dominates despair
The dance begins, no looking back
Crimson red and velvet black
Thundering hooves, a lonely sound
Bull plunges forward, splitting ground

Man rips the cloak, round from his back
Crimson red and velvet black
Disregarding all despair
Cloak and horns slice through the air
Matador, firm on the ground
The roar, “OLE!” the only sound

El Toro charges, steady back
Crimson red and velvet black
Horn meets flesh with no despair
Matador thrown in the air
The crowd falls noiseless, leaves no sound
Blood meets earth upon the ground

The still of silence fills the air
Blood and sand. Sweat, despair
Man lay crumpled on the ground
El Toro’s snort, the only sound
Blood seeps through dust, against man’s back
Crimson red and velvet black

Blood and sand, sweet despair, dust floats tender in the air
Crimson red and velvet black, face to heaven, earth to back
Humility spilled upon the ground, death comes for him, without a sound

Brave New Girl

For this assignment we had to write about someone that uses public space as private space. I figured everyone else would write about homeless people so I wanted to do something a little more outside of the box. I'm definately not the kind of blogger that I'm writing about below, but I do think it's a modern example of someone using private space as public space.
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I don’t speak loudly on my cell phone when I’m standing in line at Starbucks. I don’t put on makeup in my car. I don’t breastfeed without cover in the mall, or urinate in public places. I don’t make out in hot, crowded bars or stand too close to people when I’m talking to them. I’ve never shaved my legs in an airport bathroom or been naked in public. I’m braver than that. I write. I am a blogger.

I share something that’s much more personal than my conversations, my body or my rituals of hygiene. I fill the internet with the details of my convictions, my heart and my soul. I reveal details of the dreams fragmented by anxiety, the throb and glitter of looming hope. Images captured through my camera lens are hurled into cyberspace broadcasting moments once held sacred, to the world.

I channel my emotions onto the electronic page. I click. I share. I upload the secrets from my soul in bits and bytes. I sit braless, in striped pajamas, safely hidden behind the firewall that makes me brave in this new world. I let the words tumble from my beating heart through the rhapsody of wi-fi. Gone is the diary with the rainbow cover; it’s tiny lock protecting surreptitious thoughts. Gone are the letters creased and wrinkled from memorization, hidden underneath my mattress. My habitual secrecy ensnared, by the lure of an age of information.

Lullaby

For this assignment we had to create a poem using the words that are bolded and use one proverb or familiar phrase.

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I will not, will not go to bed! Though Mother says I must
I ask her, “Please?” in my sweet voice, I make a big 'ole fuss
I needle her a little more, “I want to have a drink”
“Me too”, she says and then she laughs, I don’t know what to think
I pretend I am a puppy, I whir, I lick, I bite
But Mother says, “Even little pups must go nighty-night”
I ask for my stuffed bunny, she lets out a great big sigh
Then she says,”Its always best, to let sleeping bunnies lie”
“I will not go to bed”, I say,” I will not sleep tonight”
She lays a kiss on my sleepy eyes and then turns out the light

Dear Tristan - 4 Years

Dear Sugar Bear,
You've turned four! The whole time you were three you kept insisting that you were four. Now that you're four you keep insisting that you are five. The grass is always greener, baby. Now that Summer is over, you are saved from the extreme boredom that you've suffered for the past month. We thought you'd be impressed with the Iron Man mask that we got your for your birthday. You were... mildly. The only thing that you were really interested in were the Light Up, Luminator Sketchers Tennis Shoes that you asked for. You see, your brother got a pair of new shoes for the school year. Inside of the box were pictures of the different superheros that went with each shoe. You became quickly fascinated with the Luminator character and decided you wanted those shoes for your birthday. To be sure we were clear on which ones, you carried the box around for a week and reminded us every 20 minutes or so, for several days.  

You are back in school and happy, happy, happy to be there. No more of that crying crap like last year. After being trapped with Mommy and brother in the house for the three months of Summer, you treat school like it's a blessing. And it is. For me.
Now that Connor has started kindergarten you both actually have the chance to miss each other. It's unbelievable. He comes home and the two of you actually run off together to play. You (sort of) even get along with each other. There's still some major screaming, and some hitting, and some snatching, but it's nothing like it was this summer.

You had your birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese this year. You weren't really interested in having a party there, except that's where Connor wanted to have his party, so that was your choice. During your party, you had the guest of honor at the head of the table. Right behind the head of the table was the Chuck E. Cheese show, with mechanical puppets, singing and turning on stage. You sat down in your seat, turned around and looked at the giant singing duck behind you and promptly decided there was no way in hell that you were sitting in front of that duck, bear or whatever that weird gopher thing was. You took a seat in the middle of the table so you could keep an eye on those things. You did get your picture taken with the mouse later, but seems like I remember having to bribe you.

I'm so proud of the little man you are becoming. I didn't even get a chance to write about your blossoming musical talent, your abillity to charm just about anyone or how your smile lights up a room. Next month.

Love you Sugarbear,
Mama

Creative Writing Imagery Assignment

This is the third assignment completed for my creative writing class. It's been graded so I thought it would be safe to post it on the blog. I'll post the others as they are completed. This was an imagery assignment. I used some details from real life, but mostly made up the rest. I did have someone post a comment on the discussion thread asking me if it was a real story about me... I wanted to respond that yes, I'm a 92 year old woman with a full time nurse. But I didn't have the heart.

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Songs of Summer

I look out the window, smeared with bird droppings that only the rain will clean. I would clean it myself, but it’s difficult to get out of bed. This is what it is to be an old woman. I feel the same way I did when I was sixteen years old, on the inside. But on the outside my ninety-two year old body has betrayed me.

When I look out the window I can see the old pecan tree. I know that its dark green leaves, wet with the morning rain, would smell like a cascade of damp earth and grass, if only I could go outside. The weathered black tire swing hangs lonely from the branches of that tree, waiting to serenade children with songs of wind and sun, waiting in its stillness to be loved again. To cut the air, with tiny feet and hands holding tight begging, “Higher! Higher!” To sing songs of summer and sweat. To sing songs of happiness.

By the old barn, I see the tractor he was working on the day he died. It sits red in its guilt, under the loft, not moved from the day he last tinkered with it. The day he said he’d be back for lunch, with only the treachery of his beating heart to stop him. The day I lost my husband.

Past the swing I look to the fence. The brown splintered posts stretch out of sync, losing their rhythm to time, trying to escape from the rusted barbed wire curling in despair. If I could stand there, I would run my withered fingers across the rusted wire as he used to, plucking it like a harp, listening for a chord that would reveal the weak spot. I would feel close to him there.

My own weak spot keeps me captive in this bed. So I look. I remember. I follow the fence line to the right and see the white cinderblock garage like a great, bleached bone stark against the green landscape. I can only see the inside of the garage in my mind.

Inside is a gray world of solitude. A world of motor oil stains and steel. Tools. Beer. I smell him here in this gray world. Like the flannel shirt kept next to the bed for fifteen years, safe from the laundry. The one my daughter found me hiding with after his funeral, my face buried into worn, blue fabric that dried my tears and eased my mourning with the lullaby of his smell.

Once when I was left unattended in my chair, I wheeled myself over to the garage and managed to roll inside. They found me there, thinking me addled with age.

“Why did you come in this old, dirty place?”

 But they could not sense him there. They couldn’t see that it was gray from the stain of his touch. The memory of his hands once covered with motor oil and grease, spreading his absence on every inch of my world.

As they wheeled me away muttering, my chair complained, its stainless steel wheels squeaking in protest. I did not complain. After fifteen years, I still go in there and expect to hear him call my name. The tide of memory drags me weightless, into the undertow of my longing. The price is not always worth the pleasure.

Today, I look to be sure my nurse is far enough for me to noiselessly slip away. I stand with my walker, damning the squeaking bed as I quietly shuffle out of the bedroom. Out the back door into the rain. To ease my weary bones onto the tire swing and drift into the sun. I will close my eyes and sing my own song of summer. I will let the golden rain gild my face, and breathe in deep the green of damp earth. I will leave the fence in disrepair and mock the garage that beckons my memory. Forgetting if only for a moment. That he has left me behind.

Creative Writing

This semester I signed up for a creative writing class at CPCC. It gets me back in as a current student which allows the priority of my registration to bump up a step, but also gives me some help with my writing. The first unit we are going through is poetry. I haven't written a poem in at least ten years and the prospect of writing prose is somewhat daunting. I struggled through the first assignment writing two poems so I could choose the one I liked the best. I'll probably post some of my assigned works, so if you stumble upon this page and find a random sonnet, I haven't completely succumbed to the madness of the household, I'm just trying to get my Shakespeare on.

Dear Connor - 5 Years, 10 Months

Dear Connor,
Tomorrow my dear you will be something that you've never been before. You will be introduced to your independence and hopefully your desire learn. You are going to begin the biggest social learning experience of your life. Tomorrow you will be starting kindergarten. No big deal I guess.


You had your assessment day last Thursday and the only information I could get out of you at first was that I didn't pack you enough for snack and that you were starving. You also mentioned that you met a friend, but you didn't remember her name. You told me the day seemed like a million hours and I cringed. You ain't seen nothing yet.



You had a great Summer. I ran your and your brother ragged, going from one activity to the next until last week when I completely burned out. I kept you and your brother home for most of the week, because I stopped moving for one day and completely lost my momentum. I didn't think I could bear to do anything other than the absolute necessary, (which did in fact include a trip to Discovery Place).



You will be thrilled to get some time away from your brother and I. At least for a month or so anyway. Now, "Daddy home days" will be called "Daddy and Connor home days". You'll get to do home work, go to bed early and eat packed lunches.  I know you won't believe it, but we'll miss you terribly.  It seems like just yesterday we were bringing you home from the hospital on a rainy day in California.
I love you,
Mama

Dear Tristan - 3 Years, 11 Months

Dear Tristan,
I'm not sure what you will remember of your summer vacation from 2010 so let me assure you, you were not bored. This Summer we've; gone swimming in a lake, took your first ride on a speedboat, gone fishing, swam in pools, had picnics, gone to the park, had playdates, gone to the movies, taken a music class, shot off fireworks, got a puppy, gone to museums, went swimming at a State Park, went to Monkey Joe's, went to splash parties, went to spray grounds, rode horses, went to a festival, played at Plaza Fiesta and a million other things that I can't list because after writing all of that, I had to go and take a quick nap it made me so tired.

So, just in case you only remember laying in front of the TV while Mommy folded laundry here are some pictures of the fun you've had this Summer.

You rode some stuff...

rode some more stuff...

and some more stuff...

went to the beach...

played in the rain...

played with fire...

went to the zoo...

met your cousins...


started to look more and more like a little boy...

You'll always be my little boy.
I love you,
Mama

Hitler freaks out over Comic Sans MS

Hitler isn't the only one that has the hate on for this font. There's a group online that is dedicated to hating this font. We've seen this Hitler movie clip with several different subtitles, all of them, amusing, but this one cracks me up too.

Hitler freaks out over Comic Sans MS.

Dear Tristan - 3 Years, 10 Months

Dear Tristan,
Driving home from the beach I had a great idea for this month's Dear Tristan. It was such a great idea, I thought I should write it down. But then I thought to myself that it was such a great idea that I wouldn't forget it. I remember having this entire dialog in my head. But I've forgotten the idea. It was about something that you do. Something that was so distinct that I could write an entire entry on it. Something about you that I didn't want to forget. It pisses me off that I can't remember what it was.



I thought at first maybe it was your eating habits, but that wasn't it. Maybe it was the way that you are starting to sing to yourself while you are completing tasks, shaking your hips and humming along. Could have been how when we were at the beach you spent the entire time paddling around on your kickboard chatting with any kids or adults that would respond to your conversation. You are definitely a people person. Charm is going to be one of your superpowers. If I can't push you on the swing at the park because I'm helping your brother with something, or talking to another parent, you'll just find a parent that is already pushing a child, take the swing next to them and ask if they will push you too. Usually they do. I mean, they are already standing there right?



When we were at the beach you made friends with a 70 year old artist and a 20-something year old soon to be bride. And when I say made friends with, I mean you talked to them for at least 20 minutes while you kicked around in the water. They were both women but you aren't afraid to go up to the Dad type on the beach and ask if he'll pull you around on the kickboard with his children. I know I should chide you for asking random people for things that you want and I do, but I'm glad you've figured out something after three years of life that a lot of people never get. You would be surprised to find what you can get, by just asking nicely for it. This is something that I learned in my 20's and it's served me well. Just don't forget to smile when you ask.
I love you,
Ahma

Dear Connor - 5 Years, 9 Months

Dear Connor,
This week we had our first beach trip of the Summer. The drive up was brutal for me but only because I didn't get to sit in the back and have someone hand me random video games, sticks of gum or donuts while I watched my choice of any Disney movie I choose. It must be hard being a kid. The ride up is mostly difficult for me because it's so boring. We are interstate most of the way so there's nothing to look at but other cars and semi trucks. Luckily on the way home, you and your brother are so tired that you sleep for a couple of hours and even though the scenery is boring, I can appreciate the quiet.


We generally spend most of our beach time at the Sound. The waves are smaller and you and your brother, get the beach experience without all of the risk. If Daddy and I are both at the beach it's easy enough to take you to the "real" beach, but without another person it gets really difficult to keep an eye on both you and your brother and it stresses me out. But that's not a tragedy to you or brother because you prefer the Sound. Nothing like getting completely run over by a couple of waves to make you see that it's really nice to go to the Sound where you can actually swim.



I thought about taking you to the beach one morning of our trip, but after taking you and your brother there the evening before I decided against it. In just the hour we were there, you were edging deeper into the ocean. That would be fine if you knew how to swim or listened to me when I told you to come closer to the beach. But my warnings of, "you are getting too deep" were completely ignored. To be perfectly honest I was sort of hoping that one of the waves would take you down, (but down in a completely safe and effective way, that would not give a parent a heartattack) and you would get a mouthful of seawater so you would understand that the ocean is to be respected. But that didn't happen. Maybe next time.



Only two more months until Kindergarten.
I love you,
Mama

The Big Ear

It's mid afternoon and we've just returned from the grocery store. I've been trying to find something that Layla can chew on that doesn't have laces or rubber soles. I call it, Project: Save the Shoes. She likes the Milk Bone biscuits and is crazy for a small piece of hot dog, which is what I've used to teach her to sit and shake. But she isn't into any of the chewy stuff. Rawhide and such. I ran across a package of Pig Ears at the grocery. My dog used to love those. I figure it will keep Layla busy for at least 20 minutes and maybe satisfy the need to chew on our shoes. For a little while anyway.
So I buy a two pack. Upon returning home, I give her one of the ears and then notice Connor pouting. He's about to start ranting because the puppy was given a treat by someone other than him, but then he stops and says, "What IS that?" I say, "It's a Pig Ear" and then freeze, suddenly realizing that I may have just opened an can of worms I wasn't meaning to open. He doesn't hear me. "What?", he asks. I say, "It's a BIG Ear. That's just what it's called, I dunno" and then quickly drop the subject. A few minutes later I walk past Layla who is eating her pig's ear with gusto and say, "Wow. She really likes that pig ear". Connor starts laughing and says, "Mommy! You just called it a PIG'S EAR and it's a BIG EAR. You are SO silly Mommy!" I nod at him. "You're right, baby. It's a big ear. I am so silly". And then I leave the room, relieved that I'm not suddenly sucked into a conversation that reveals that hamburgers are actually made from cows.

Loving Wordpress

Here are all of the things that I love about WordPress. This also could mostly be a list of what I hate about Blogger.

Now all of my text and images are on MY server. Not theirs.

The GUI interface is very intuitive.

You can schedule a post to schedule and... it ACTUALLY does it on time!

There

Dear Tristan - 3 Years, 9 Months

Dear Tristan,

Last year you cried almost every time I dropped you off at preschool. Some days you would run right in without a whimper, but then the next day, you would cry and cling to me like you had never been without me. This was annoying at the least, but the teachers got used to prying you off of me and you usually stopped crying about 2 minutes after I walked out of the door. But then you started doing the same thing at the gym. I thought maybe it was just because we had not been going for a while the first time it happened. But when they pulled me out of yoga class because you were clinging to the door and screaming I had, had enough. I took you out to the car and told you that if you didn't stop crying immediately you were going to be in BIG trouble. I was pissed. You believed me. And stopped crying immediately. Hmmm... wasn't THAT interesting?

The only time you can just stop crying like that, is when you are mostly faking it...
So I tried a little experiment. The next day when we went to preschool you started getting cranked up. I pulled you over to the side and explained to you that if you started crying and didn't let me leave that when you got home from school, you were going to take a nap. You whimpered just a little bit but let me leave in peace. I'm just sorry that it took me an entire school year to figure that out. I do think that you didn't want to go to school and that you had a little bit of anxiety about being left there... but I don't think it was nearly as much as you were pretending.

You are addicted to cereal. This morning I offered you left over pizza for breakfast and you actually laughed at me. Then you said, "Silly, Mommy. I'm not eating pizza for breakfast. I want cereal." Of course you do. Three bowls of it. No wonder you hardly eat lunch. I was thrilled that you were so into Raisin Bran, until one day I casually turned over the box and realized that it had 20 grams of sugar per serving. That's more than some of the other, "magically delicious" cereals that appeal to children. But at least it's not full of red dye #20. You'd be better off with pizza.

You just aren't sure about this puppy thing. You like the puppy, sure. But you aren't liking getting jumped on or when she starts barking at you. At first this baffled me, but then I realized that she's half of your height already. And she thinks that you and your brother are her litter mates. She's not shy about trying to tackle you, so you approach her with your hands out in front of you like a shield, ready to fend off her bouncy puppy advances. You don't love her yet, but you will. And what you don't know is that she loves you already.

I love you,
Ama

On Holiday

Jorma and I have started resuming something that some think is ridiculous and some think is spectacular. We call it, The Day Off. Not four hours out for dinner out with the girls after the kids are asleep anyway. Not a lunch with the girls and then a preschool pick up. The WHOLE day. Here are the rules for The Day Off.
The person that is having The Day Off, gets up with the kids and feeds them breakfast. This way the one that is having Quality Time with Children day gets to rest up. They will need all of their strength. This way the one whose Day Off it is, gets to spend some time with the kids.
Then in late morning the person having Day Off leaves. For the whole day. No calling and checking in. No nothing. Just a whole day of whatever you want to do. Staying home and not being bothered is NOT an option.
We do this so that I have a Saturday off and then Jorma has Sunday on the same weekend, or vis versa so that we don't burn two good weekends in a row with one of us gone.
The first Day Off I ever had, I went to Target. I walked around for about two hours, trying on shoes and dresses, looking at picture frames and browsing lipsticks. I think I bought a new lipstick and a coffee on the way out. I went and ate Mexican Food, I went to a pet store and looked at the puppies and kittens. I went to a coffee shop and read.
Another Day Off I went up to Pattie's for the whole day and laid in the pool with Pattie and Dar and did absolutely nothing. And shortly after that The Day Off fizzled out. It wasn't because The Day Off wasn't needed or wanted. It's because The Day Off wasn't demanded. I don't need to demand a day off to Jorma. I need to demand a day off to myself. Because it's oh so easy just to let it slide because there's a birthday party or an impending grocery trip.
When Jorma and I went out on our anniversary weekend two weeks ago, we went white water rafting, horseback riding and out to dinner or lunch every single meal. We went shopping and had a massage. We saw a movie. We drank. It was spectacular. It led us to one conclusion. If we can't do fun stuff together without the kids, we should at least do it apart - without the kids. And so The Day Off is back in play.
I know some of you ladies are thinking that you'd never be able to pass this off to your husband. Here's how you do it. Tell him you want to start having a day off. Tell him the rules. Tell him he gets one too. He'll say he doesn't need one. He's being a martyr. Suggest to him that if he had a day off he could _________. That blank you fill in with all of the things that he used to do before you had kids. Make it tempting. Or, say, if you are married to someone like Jorma... you could just suggest leaving the house for an entire day without the children or work and watch them leave skid marks out of the driveway. Either way works fine.
If you aren't longing to escape from your children or husband, take a day off anyway. When was the last time you went out and did a whole day of stuff that you really wanted to do without stopping to run an errand or pick up milk? Ever gone to a movie by yourself? It rocks. You can sit where you want to and don't have to share popcorn. Even when you're single it's nice to take yourself out on a date. No push up bra necessary.

Sucka!!!!

You may have seen on Facebook that we have a new member in our family circle. After Pippin left we were going to wait to get a new cat for the boys. We didn't want them to feel like pets are replaceable or disposable. Or that Pippin could be so easily forgotten. But the truth was. We missed having a kitty around. I especially missed him during laundry folding, when he would jump up on the bed and tunnel through the clean clothes. But after a couple of years of getting used to not having an animal in the house, it only took us a year and a half with Pippin to get completely used to having an animal in the house.
We went kitty shopping at a rescue facility called, Kitty City, in Concord. We had been the week before and seen the cutest lab puppies in the window. They were adorable. But we weren't shopping for puppies. Off we went to Kitty City, with my animal loving Stepmom in tow. The kids went right over to the kittens. And Jorma went straight over to the puppies. hmmm. Isn't that interesting? Before we knew it we had every one of the puppies out and playing while the kids ignored us and continued to look at the kittens.
Jorma and I had a quick side discussion about getting a puppy and then I couldn't stand it. I had to get out of there. I couldn't make a logical decision looking at those puppy eyes. Lucky us, there's an ice cream shop across the street.
If you are even in downtown Concord you should go to the Creamery because their 20 flavors can beat 31 flavors any day. But I digress.
We decided that we did want a pup and it was then a matter of which one. We had it narrowed down to two Bloodhound-Lab mixes. Both girls. Both adorable. We chose the smaller of the two because we didn't want to have to buy a saddle with our puppy and because she seemed much more mellow. I'm not a fan of spastic dogs. But I am a sucka for a pretty face.
Introducing, Layla.

Now do you see why we didn't get a kitty? Look at that FACE!


She could out cute a basket of baby bunnies.

Dear Connor - 5 Years, 8 Months

Dear Connor,
Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden? Is it because your preschool is over and you’ve been home with me for four whole days and are already so bored, that driving Mommy insane is your new hobby? Is it because your schedule is off?  You’ve been testing the limits now that we are all home together for the Summer and I wish you could just understand that the rules are all exactly the same. You still aren’t allowed to put your brother in a headlock or eat m&ms for breakfast. You still can’t call Mommy a liar after I say I saw you hit your brother and put you in time out. Everything is exactly the same, with the exception that Mommy’s patience has worn thin by 1pm instead of 5pm, since there’s no preschool.



The plan for the Summer is to run you and brother ragged so that you fall into bed each night. Park in the morning and swimming in the afternoons. Museums, play dates and long walks. Doesn’t matter to me what we do as long as you get in enough action during the day. I figure it’s good prep for school in the fall. The house stays cleaner if y’all aren’t around to drag your collection of 700 toys around the house following me from room to room with them. If you are bored you aren’t hitting each other.  If you are exhausted, you sleep later. Better for me. Better for you. I need to get on the plan. Because not being on the plan is torture for everyone.



Our kitty went missing a month or so ago. We put up signs. We looked for him by foot, by car and at the pound. We never found him. I tried to tell you that maybe his collar came off and someone picked him up and gave him another home. But then you pointed out that if that was true, as soon as he escaped he would come home. I didn’t know what to say. Because you were right. And because I didn’t want to tell you that if he wasn’t coming home, it’s because he couldn’t make it home. When I went to take the signs down in the neighborhood I got back in the car and you said, “DO NOT TALK ABOUT IT. I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT PIPPIN.” So we didn’t. And I could see on your face that you were about to cry. It just about broke my heart. Somehow you aren’t into the new fish that we got for you. Pippin always loved you best.



You graduated from PreSchool last week. I've always thought that PreSchool Graduation was a bit hokey. But I couldn't have been more proud of you walking down the aisle. They announced the names of all of the children and where they would be going to school. then they announced what that child said they wanted to be when they grew up. All of the other kids wanted to be princesses and jedi when they grew up. But you wanted to be a construction worker. You told us later that was because you wanted to be able to build a house for me and a truck for Daddy. We'll be happy with whatever you decide. Just remember that we'd like our house to have heated tile floors in the bathroom.
I love you,
Mama

The Snake Story

If you’ve made eye contact with Connor within the past two months you’ve already heard this story. He’s told it to everyone in our family, his classmates and any random grocery clerk that says hello to him. Apparently finding two snakes in our yard on the same day made quite an impact on him.
The first snake the cat had. It was a small Rat Snake that eventually coiled itself up around a stick to avoid being a cat toy. We threw it over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, since it was harmless and they have two boys that love snakes. And because there was no way the cat was going to leave this thing alone.
The second snake we found was when I was weeding the side of the house. I had gloves on and pulled a patch of weeds, revealing a Copperhead that was hiding from the sun. I backed up and told Connor to get the shovel. The Copperhead wasn’t that big, maybe a little over a foot, but it was big enough to make an impression on Connor who ran to get the shovel. Luckily for me he didn’t see anything shiny on the way and get distracted. He returned promptly with the shovel which he handed to me from four feet away.
I took the shovel and poised it over the snake knowing that I only had one shot. I hit it so hard my feet came up off of the ground and the snake was severed in several places since he was coiled when I hit him. And then he tried to come after me.
He couldn’t move very well since his head was attached to about 3 inches of body but that didn’t stop him from trying. It was disgusting. Once his death throes were over, we scooped him up with the shovel and took him to one of the neighbors for ID. I thought the snake was probably a Copperhead, but knew for sure it was poisonous by the way the hair on the back of my neck stood up. You can't ignore millions of years of evolution.
It was determined that the snake indeed was a Copperhead. Our neighbor put his finger down to touch the head and but changed his mind when Connor started to panic. Good thing too, since the snake opened its mouth and started rolling around again ready for action. It had been dead for 15 minutes. Did I mention that this was disgusting?
I took the snake and buried it in the back yard so the kids wouldn’t keep messing with it.
It’s a fairly tame story but when you hear Connor tell it, he’ll explain to you how he saved the entire family by bringing a shovel. And I hope you will pat his head and tell him how brave he is.